You find your way walking down the streets of Paris one fine spring day. You stop to take in the cacophony of many Parisians in the early morning going about their usual business. You feel as if something is calling out to Dr you, turning to your left you see the peculiar face on a door, beckoning you to enter.

A trio of children laughing and running nearly knock you off your feet as they flee outside with a fury of giggles under their breath.

The room appears to be a lobby fixed with tables and chairs spotted throughout with a counter on the far wall, a staircase to the left leads to the upper floors. Unlike the outside the inside seems to be in a bit of disrepair as if it’s being held together, with barely enough love to keep it erect.

Several people in the lobby appear to be engaged in their own affairs. Some are hard at a game cards, others debating the news in the morning paper involving a notorious thief and murderer lurking through the shadows of Paris.

A loud snore from an old man in a lone chair that looks as rutty as himself breaks your attention from the details. The snore turns into a cough and stammer. “Looks like a visitor. . . Henrietta is out for the day…” He said as he was already halfway back asleep.

Apart from the old man in the old chair nobody else seems to acknowledge your existence. You slowly walk towards the counter for any other signs of life that can point you in any sort of direction.

“There is a few vacant rooms if you lookin’ for a place to stay!” A large hairy man with a five o’clock shadow spoke from the other side of the counter, leaning against a door frame. His Cockney accent seemed out of place. It’s hard to help grimacing a little watching him put a mashed cigar between his brown teeth and bite down with a grin.

Another voice spoke from behind. “The price to stay can be pretty steep, unless you have something to offer. . .”

“I’m sorry?” You respond and turn around to face the man behind you with striking eyes. A clean shaven and well dressed individual who is tell and confident in his stance.

“You see, the Madam who runs this place might give you a deal if you can be of particular use to her.”

He can read that you feel uncomfortable if not confused with the question which causes him to clarify immediately.

“You see, I’m an Actor.”

He extended his hand which you hesitantly shake.

“Henrietta is convinced as much myself that I will make it big in the Theatre someday soon. I am merely a waiter at a café down the corner by necessity alone. I come from America Clarence Cooper, a pleasure!”

With a nod towards the man behind the counter he introduced the next soul. “Gavin Winstone, he’s the cook and laundryman, for a price of course. . .”

Gavin removed the mashed cigar from his mouth and peered at you as if assessing your value before giving a hack and snort.

Clarence then directs you away from Gavin’s stare towards the old man slumped in the chair.

“This is Monsieur Guenier!” Clarence whispered carefully in your ear. “Henrietta’s father, it’s best to treat him kind, but not too kind. One of the Tenants was nearly thrown out for offering him a box of cigarettes. You see he has a terrible cough, and she doesn’t care for her father smoking, not to mention he’s known to take advantage of kind souls and frighten Mrs. Berkshires children.”

Clarence reads the look on your face and clarifies further.

“She’s a mother five with an estranged husband who lives on the second floor. She gets a break by cleaning the Apartment, as well as Henrietta’s room on occasion. She’s very kind, the children that are able to work also bring in enough to stay here. Most of us don’t think Henrietta would ever put her out, but she can be quite erratic.”

Guiding you to an empty chair and table Clarence suggests you sit and rest for a while. With a raise of his arm, he requests Gavin prepare a coffee to which he gets a grimace. “Tryin’ yer luck Yankee Doodle!” Gavin responded with sarcasm and reluctance.